


Uncomfortable Liar

by illyrilex



Category: King of Fighters, Ryuuko no Ken | Art of Fighting (Video Games)
Genre: Blackmail, Crossdressing, Gen, Lies, Revenge, Violence, be gay do crime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:48:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26379085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illyrilex/pseuds/illyrilex
Summary: King's entire ruse is jeopardized by a figure from the past. [COMPLETE]
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, hello~!
> 
> This event has been referenced or mentioned in other fics, but I've been wanting to actually write it out and explore it for some time now. It's not gonna be the wordiest piece, so I hope you're okay with short chapters.
> 
> Onward~

Cécile Levasseur was positive that she had lost her mind.  
  
Dropping out of college so she could work as a bouncer and enforcer for one of Southtown’s most notorious crime bosses, Mr. Big, was crazy enough on its own, but doing so while _pretending to be a man_ was batshit insane. Cécile, who was using the hastily conjured alias “King,” tried to rationalize her actions on more than one occasion, citing desperation and being fed up with the patriarchy (among other things) as valid reasons for her genderbending shenanigans, but, when it really came down to it, she was pretty sure that the only _legitimate_ explanation for her ruse was that she had flat-out snapped.   
  
And, so, Cécile — no, _King_ — stood in front of a full-length mirror and buttoned her shirt, all the while wondering how the _hell_ she had made it so far without anybody realizing who she really was. Didn’t anyone find it strange that the pretty waitress with the nice legs and pointy nose disappeared at the same time a quiet man with a pointy nose and a background in Muay Thai was hired as the new bouncer? Surely, someone must have noticed…?  
  
That one thought — that one worry — filled King with immeasurable anxiety. She didn’t want to think about what would happen if even a single person found out about her, but, sometimes, she couldn’t stop her thoughts from running amok; her mind would start spinning hypothetical scenarios, each one as unpleasant (and frightening) as the next. Would she be outright killed? Shot in the head and dumped in the ocean for the fish to feed off of? Or maybe they’d make it look like an overdose…? Of all the possibilities, death was definitely the most extreme… but... what if they actually kept her alive? Would they maim her? Douse her pretty face in acid so that she would be permanently scarred? Chop things off? Fingers, toes, ears…? Or, maybe… maybe she’d even be forced into prostitution…? 

With a shake of her head (it was best not to think of those things — _ever_ ), King finished with her shirt and reached for her pants. She pulled the black fabric over her legs and swore under her breath as she met a little bit of resistance around her thighs. Blessed (or in this case, cursed?) with the coveted hourglass figure, she was using sports bras and tape to keep her breasts smashed as flat as possible, but her ass was another story. She worried that, sooner or later, someone was going to notice that the new guy had very... shapely hips. She took one last look in the mirror: her appearance wasn’t the _most_ masculine, but she didn’t look very feminine, either, which was strangely unsettling. Nevertheless, it had been good enough for a few weeks now; as long as no one _really_ looked at her, she would be fine.

King let out a deep sigh as she left her bedroom. All she needed to do was put on her bow tie, cummerbund, and shoes, and she would be ready for another night of work. She made a face as she reached for a bottle of cologne and wondered if she would get the chance to cave somebody’s nose in, or maybe break a collarbone or two. One of the biggest perks of the job — aside from the pay — was beating the shit out hapless, degenerate schmucks: It gave King an outlet for all of her pent up rage and fed a sadistic streak she hadn’t really been aware of until she snagged the gig. She pressed her lips together as she put on her remaining accessories, quickly tied her shoes, and pocketed her essentials before exiting her tiny apartment.

Time to go get paid...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! So let's go over a few things.
> 
> ...Actually, you know what? Let's not, because there's nothing of note here — not even for any newbies, really, as it's pretty self-explanatory stuff (though if you want a little more background, check out R&D for the deets on how King actually became King).
> 
> As always, comments/reviews/Kudos are always very much appreciated, as I crave validation, but, also, genuinely enjoy hearing from my readers! So don't be shy — tell me what's up!
> 
> See you next time~!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi folks. Was debating how quickly I should post this since it's been done for a little bit but ultimately decided against holding it because, really, what's the point anyway?
> 
> Onward~

It wasn’t often that King feared she would die from boredom while at work, but a slow night at the L’Amour Restaurant and Bar had her feeling that, surely, she would keel over from the lack of activity at any second. She  _ desperately _ wanted to just beat someone up or go home, but things simply didn’t work that way: Once she was “on the clock” there was no leaving until either the restaurant closed for the night or she was finished dispatching whoever crossed the Big Bad that day.

The Big Bad, who had strolled into the building, a woman on each arm, and decreed that he was not to be disturbed before disappearing into his private lounge to — presumably — do coke and wax poetic about how, some day, he’d usurp Geese Howard’s position as THE boss of Southtown.   
  
Of course, that left King downstairs to just… sit… and watch… and wait for someone in the nearly empty dining room (or even emptier bar) to get out of line, which wasn’t likely at all given how _dead_ the place was. It was already well into the evening, which meant that business probably wasn’t going to pick up at all given that it was a weeknight. Thankfully, King knew from her previous experience waiting tables there to _always_ bring a book.  
  
“Hey, King.”  
  
King tore her eyes away from the pages in front of her so she could turn her attention to the bartender, an ancient man called Bruce. She raised her eyebrows, wordlessly giving him the go-ahead to continue talking.   
  
“What’cha got there?”  
  
King, who always did everything in her power to keep from speaking unless absolutely necessary, quirked a brow, as the title of the book should have been impossible to miss. She let out a deep sigh as she held the paperback up and gestured to the big, bold words printed on the front cover.  
  
“ _The Divine Comedy_?” Bruce asked, seemingly a little surprised. “It’s been awhile since I’ve read that one. Where are you?”  
  
Before King could inform the bartender that she was halfway through Canto XXX she caught sight of a very large, very burly man starting to ascend the stairs leading up to Mr. Big’s lounge. She quickly set the book down, jumped out of her seat at the bar, and ran toward him.  
  
“Hey!”  
  
King’s shout fell on deaf ears as the man kept walking. With a scowl she dashed forward and threw herself in front of him, ready to declare that Big wasn’t seeing anybody, but stopped dead because she _recognized_ the person — _instantly_. Hell, there was no way she _couldn’t_ , as his big, fat belly and trashy mullet burned themselves into her memory the night he beat — no, _humiliated_ her.   
  
“You?!” she blurted with zero thought.  
“Yeah,” he said plainly. “ _Me_.”  
  
The man, who King remembered was called Jack, placed a beefy hand on her shoulder and effortlessly shoved her out of the way. She landed flat on her ass, suddenly extremely nervous because if _he_ were to recognize _her_ from that night, her charade would be over — just like that. And then where would she be? However, there was no time to think about such things, as she had been given a direct order: to make sure _no one_ disturbed Big.   
  
Especially not this slovenly asshole.  
  
King jumped to her feet and ran in front of Jack once more. He narrowed his eyes as he stopped to size her up.  
  
“You must be the new guy I’ve heard so much about,” he sneered. “It’s _because_ you’re new that I’ll cut you a little slack.”  
  
With that, Jack pushed King out of his path. Her temper began to flare as she ran forward and placed herself in front of the large man _again_.  
“Big said —”  
“I don’t care what Big said, boy,” Jack growled. He reached out, snatched King by her collar, and carelessly _tossed_ her out of his way; she skidded across the floor and grunted when her back collided with the wall.  
  
“I gotta have a li’l discussion with him…!”  
  
At that, Jack walked right up to a set of double doors and forcefully shoved them wide open, splintering the wood.   
  
“Son of a _bitch_ ,” King growled while she picked herself up. She sprinted into the room, where Jack was yelling at Mr. Big, who was sitting on a tacky sofa, flanked by his women. He cocked his head to the side when he noticed King.  
  
“Apologies,” she started in the low tone she used when she absolutely _had_ to speak for extended periods. “I tried to —”  
“Psshhh. I’m not interested in your excuses,” Big interrupted. “I ain’t mad, though! Been needing to have a meeting with Jack over here for a while now.”  
“...Then I’ll take my leave,” King said carefully.  
“Appreciate it.”  
  
King bowed her head and started toward the exit; the sooner she could get out of there and regain her bearings, the better. However, she was stopped when Jack suddenly grabbed her arm.  
  
“Hey, new guy,” he said gruffly.  
  
King glared at Jack as she pulled out of his grasp. There was something about the way he was squinting down at her that was making her intensely uncomfortable. She instantly recalled when he looked right into her face that night and told her she had guts for fighting him. She hoped beyond hell that the blood that had been running from her nose and lip during that event, or her longer hair, had obscured her features enough so that he wouldn’t remember them, but the way he was just... _looking_ at her told her otherwise. Was it her nose? The colour of her eyes? Whatever it was didn’t matter — she needed to stay as composed as humanly possible. She drew in a breath and furrowed her brow.  
  
“Yes?”   
“You got a sister or somethin’?”  
“No,” came King’s surprisingly even reply.  
“A cousin?” 

King shook her head in response, trying to remain as unaffected by Jack’s questioning as possible. Her fight or flight response was going haywire, but she had to hold it together no matter what. If she didn’t, it was game over.

“Hunh.”    
  
Jack squinted while looking her up and down; she could have sworn his gaze lingered at her hips.  
  
“Ay, leave King alone, man!” Mr. Big called from his seat across the room. “He’s good. A little quiet, but a  _ real _ team player. Isn’t that right, King?”

King turned so she could see Big before giving a curt nod.   
  
“Speaking of,” Big said. “I got a little job for you tonight. Might get messy, though.”   
“Who?” King asked stoically, though she was actually pretty excited.   
“Martinez.”   
“ _ Martinez _ ? That’s one of my guys!” Jack exclaimed.   
“Yeah, well, he’s been interfering with my shit for a minute. He needs to learn that that don’t fly.”   
“Then let  _ me _ take care of it. He’s part of my cr —”   
“I told  _ King _ to do it,” Big interrupted. “So King’s going to do it.”    
“This pretty boy?!” Jack scoffed. “You’re gonna send  _ this _ pretty boy to deal with  _ my _ guy? Are you out of your fuckin’ mind?!”   
“That ‘pretty boy’ don’t have any soft spots for your boys, so he won’t hold back the way you would.”   
“That’s not —!”   
  
Big’s carefree expression suddenly melted into something much more sinister. He glared at Jack through his sunglasses, his demeanor icy. Dangerous. There was a very tense silence between the two men before Big addressed King.   
  
“He’s on his way here. Meet him out back and tell him I said hello.”   
  
With a nod King promptly rushed out of the room, fully —  _ painfully _ — aware that Jack was watching her very intently. As she walked she pulled a pair of gloves from her back pocket and deliberately slipped them on, a little shaken by the possibility that the disgusting man in the lounge remembered her just as much as she remembered him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a whole lot here (lucky you):
> 
> * The Divine Comedy (Dante's Inferno) tells the story of Dante as he journeys through the afterlife. Canto XXX is the Eighth Circle of Hell, which is made up of Falsifiers. I'm sure you see the connection here, as King is lying through her teeth about who she is and what her motives are.  
> * King met (and fought) Jack previously in A Profound Impact, which is just a few clicks that way.
> 
> Okay, I think that's all for this one. Tune in next time when... things... happen... and stuff? Until then, don't be afraid to let me know whose thoughts/feels/etc! 
> 
> Cheers!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! Hi! Hello! Hey! 
> 
> A word here that, while A Profound Impact isn't required reading for this thanks to context, it certainly helps. If you're familiar with it you'll know why immediately.
> 
> Onward~

A largely uneventful week, coupled with Jack Turner’s continued presence at and around L’Amour, made King more restless than she had been in a long time.  
  
In the days following her “formal” introduction to Jack, King discovered that the robust man— who was the leader of a gang called the Black Cats— was actually pretty high within Big’s ranks. Not as high as her, however, which really seemed to bother him. King didn’t care, though, as Jack’s hurt feelings were hardly her problem.   
  
The interactions she had with the gang leader were brief and to the point: King didn’t want to be around him longer than she had to be not only because of their past connection, but, also, because of how… _gross_ he was. Unintelligent, crass, misogynistic, grubby… he was literally everything she hated, wrapped up into one, foul person. On top of that she would sometimes catch him watching her very intently. She had to wonder if what she saw in his eyes was jealousy…? Or something else?  
  
So, when Big tasked King with “collecting a debt” she jumped at the chance, as it would mean she would be able to get out of the restaurant and finally release some pent up agitation.  
  
“I won’t disappoint you,” she assured Big before rushing out of the lounge. She exited the establishment through the back door, walked past a large dumpster, and pulled her gloves out of her pocket, ready to kick some ass. She carefully put them on before leaning against a nearby brick wall.

It had to have been about fifteen minutes before her soon-to-be victim arrived. He sauntered over, somewhat obscured by the darkness, completely unaware of how serious his situation was about to become. He was so casual — so relaxed. He had _no_ idea…  
  
King pulled herself away from the wall so she could issue a greeting but stopped dead when the man fully stepped into the light. She felt her eyes widen as she involuntarily let out a tiny gasp.

Her mark… he was another one of Jack’s guys. Specifically, the one who looked like a darker, dirtier Iggy Pop.

“Pas moyen…!” King breathed as he drew closer.  
“Who’re _you_?” He asked, somewhat confused. “Where’s Big?”

All King could do was stare.  
  
She remembered how he held her down while his friend tried to do unspeakable things to her… how helpless and scared she felt… and how she would never be in that position ever again. She trained hard after the “fight” and decided that, if she ever saw either of them again, she would 

fuck. 

them. 

up.

As luck would have it, she had already gotten revenge against the other guy; it was actually what got her the job. She had _thoroughly_ enjoyed knocking his teeth out. 

And now, she was going to enjoy this.

“Hey,” darker, dirtier Iggy Pop called. “I said where’s Bi — ”

In one swift, sudden motion, King kicked darker, dirtier Iggy Pop square in the face so hard that several teeth (if they could still be called that, anyway) went flying out of his mouth, which, in addition to his nose, started gushing blood. She advanced on him while he staggered, hitting him with a hard punch to the face. He cried out but, somehow, remained on his feet, bleeding profusely. He held his mouth and tried to speak, but all he could do was make unsettling noises as he backed away.

“Espèce de _connard_ ,” King growled. She recalled the look in his eyes when he ripped her shirt open and went for the button on her pants that night; it instilled in her an almost overwhelming feeling of _rage_. When she got close enough she kicked darker, dirtier Iggy Pop’s knee which instantly dislocated it.

“I’ve waited a long time for this, you rapey piece of shit!”

The man was struggling to keep himself on his feet, but King didn’t care; in that moment the only thing that mattered was making him _hurt_. With that in mind she executed a backflip kick that connected with the unfortunate man’s chest and face; the second she was back on both feet she pelted him with several quick kicks before finishing with a very hard roundhouse that sent him crashing to the concrete. He tried to sit up but King stopped him with a swift blow to the solar plexus.

“Puh-please,” darker, dirtier Iggy Pop sputtered as blood continued to pour from his mouth. “P-p-please stop!”  
“‘Please stop,’” King sneered coldly. “C'est mignon.”  
  
She narrowed her eyes at her foe and debated with herself: keep the beating going, or stop while she was ahead? 

Darker, dirtier Iggy Pop tried to pull himself up but King used her foot to knock him over. She pressed her lips in a thin line as she considered her next move. Finally, she stooped down and smiled at the man, who let out a small whimper and recoiled when she drew a little closer.

“You have thirty minutes to get Big his money,” she told him, her tone impassive. “And, also? If you ever touch another woman again I will find you and I will do much, _much_ worse to you. Do you understand?”

A frantic nod.

“Very good,” King said while rising up to her full height. She slowly removed her gloves and massaged her knuckles, which were aching a little thanks to the force behind the punch she had thrown moments earlier. 

“Thirty minutes,” she stated plainly.

With that King walked away, satisfied with her handiwork... but completely unaware that she was being watched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She did it! 
> 
> King got her revenge on two of the three on her Shit List! Satisfying, yeah? Because it was satisfying to write, not gonna lie. Anyway:
> 
> * Pas moyen = no way  
> * Iggy Pop is an American rock star. He did that song Lust for Life from Trainspotting (probably just carbon dated myself again...). Anyway, Google him.  
> * The other guy was the bouncer at L'Amour for all of a few hours (named Dimples, btw) before King came in and took him out. Easily.  
> * Espèce de connard = You asshole  
> * C'est mignon = that's cute (it should be noted that this form of "mignon" is masculine; feminine is "mignonne")
> 
> That's it for this one, folks! What's gonna happen next? Any guesses? Let me know down below, and thank you for reading (and hopefully reviewing)!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Publishing this a little early because, well... I feel like it. Quick reminder that King is bi as fuck and Jessica is not canon. 
> 
> Onward~

Although L'Amour hadn't yet closed for the night, King was given the all-clear to leave since her work was done. However, she was far too wired to just go home, so she excitedly texted her girlfriend, Jessica, told her she had some good news, and asked if it was okay for her to come by (which was more of a formality than anything, since they had been together for so long that she had the spare key). Once she was told that it was okay to drop in, she climbed into her car, removed her bow tie and cummerbund, and drove off. Not even fifteen minutes later she stood in front of Jessica's door, still giddy over what transpired earlier. She couldn't wait to give her girlfriend the rundown about her night — to tell her all about how she finally dished out the rest of the payback she dreamt of for the better part of two months.

"I'll be right there," Jessica's muffled voice called when King rang the bell (another formality, of course). Within seconds the door to the apartment was pulled open, revealing the smaller, darker woman, who offered a warm smile despite the late hour.

"Hey, babe," she greeted jovially. King took in every aspect of her appearance, from her stylish t-shirt to her neat curls and felt a sudden need to just… _be_ with her. Other than her little brother, Jessica was one of the best things in King's life — a connection to the normalcy she lost when she initially took the bouncer job. She looked down at the other woman for just a moment before leaning in and kissing her passionately. Jessica, who seemed momentarily surprised, eagerly kissed her back, and the two moved into the dwelling. King used her foot to kick the door behind the pair closed; she then started to clumsily unbutton her own shirt while Jessica reached for the clasp on her slacks. She finally pulled away, tossed her top on the floor, and quickly began removing the athletic tape that was keeping her breasts flattened.  
  
"Bedroom," she said breathlessly.

###

It was a little while later when King and Jessica were situated in bed, both a little tired, but freshened up and satisfied. After their very intense… "session," King recounted every detail of her run-in with the Black Cat whose name she hadn't bothered to learn: her initial shock when she saw him, the pleasure she took with every blow she landed… and, of course, the money.

"Getting my hands dirty was worth every penny," she stated while she fiddled with the zipper on the front of her sports bra. "But even if Big _hadn't_ paid me I'd have been completely fine with it."  
"So, if you had come back and he said he didn't have anything for you, and just left it at that, you wouldn't have had a problem with it?"

Jessica's expression was full of doubt.

"Not at all," King replied casually. "You know what that incident did to me. And I got the opportunity — through sheer coincidence! — to give that guy what he deserved. So I did."  
"I understand that," Jessica started slowly, "and I'm happy for you because you got your revenge…"  
"But…?" King prodded while turning on to her side and bunching a pillow under her head.  
"But my girlfriend is dressing as a man and beating up would-be rapists in dark alleys."

Much to King's surprise, Jessica's cadence was incredibly abrasive.

"Key word: ' _rapist_ s,'" she shot back, a little perplexed by the change in tone. "You can't tell me that it wasn't justified."

Jessica rolled onto her stomach. She rested her chin in her hands and regarded King with something that was somehow foreign… and very unnerving.

"How badly did you beat him?"  
"He'll need a substantial amount of dental work," King answered without missing a beat. "And a lot of painkillers because I'm pretty sure I broke his jaw — and maybe a rib or two. But he still had to get Big his money, so I was a little gentler on him than I could have been."

The look on Jessica's face made King deflate instantly, and the two fell into a somewhat uncomfortable silence.

"Come on," King started gently. "You know that I —"  
"Look. If I were in your position I would have enjoyed beating up someone who tried what he tried, too. But I feel like… overall… you might actually… _like_ this job…?"  
"...What?"  
"I haven't seen you this happy since Jean was allowed to go home."  
"I just put a man who tried to rape me in a parking lot in his place," King replied. "Even better is that I got _paid_ to do it! So of course I'm happy!"  
"And his boss?"

King quirked a brow.

"You mean Turner?"  
"Yeah! He's the one who beat you up and now you've taken out another one of his guys. Aren't you afraid of what he might do to you when he finds out?"  
"He's not going to do anything to me," King assured Jessica coolly.  
"You don't —"  
"Big's orders are Big's orders, and it's very clear that Turner has to respect them. And, even then, if he lays a single finger on me I'll —"  
"Céc —" Jessica reached out to place a hand on King's arm — "he probably _does_ know who you are! So it doesn't matter if you were to win a rematch against him because you'd still _lose_! He'd go to Big and blow the lid off this whole thing, and then…"

She trailed off while averting her gaze.

"Jess," King sighed. "You can't think like that. _I_ can't think like that."  
"No, but you need to think about Jean," Jessica retorted sharply.  
"What?! Why are you bringing my brother into this?"  
"He's already in this, Céc! The whole reason you started doing this was for him! And now, if that man realizes that you're the woman he beat the shit out of — "  
"Do _not_ ," King said through gritted teeth.  
"Do not what? Tell you how it is?"  
"Look —" King abruptly sat up — "I've learned that… _Jack_ … is an idiot. Yeah, he stares sometimes, and I _am_ a little worried about that, but, honestly? He's too stupid to figure it out! They all are!"  
"Do you even know what you look like?"

King made a face as she turned to glance at her reflection in the mirror on the opposite wall. She then looked back to Jessica, who was staring at her intently.

"Of course I do. Why —"  
"Look again, Céc. You have _two_ earlobe piercings in each ear, _no_ stubble on your face, and your eyes are an _un_ common shade of blue. Not to mention your voice. Do you really think that not a _single_ person will eventually catch on?"

King pressed her lips together and focused on Jessica, a little aggravated. However, as much as she hated to admit it... her girlfriend was right. Those were all _very_ defining features that, if noticed by the wrong people, could royally fuck her over.

"Just get _out_ of there, Céc! It's still early…! Make something up and leave it behind...!"  
"You know it doesn't work like that," King quietly remarked.  
"So, what? Are you just gonna do this forever now? You're in for life?"  
"I'm in until I get what I need to help Jean."  
"Sure. Tell yourself that in six months. A year. You'll get your money, but then you'll stay. You'll keep being Mr. Big's lapdo—"

Jessica's eyes went wide as she stopped herself from completing that thought. Meanwhile, King took a deep breath as she rose to her feet, angry.

...But also hurt.

"So that's what you think of me."  
"Céc…!"  
"I should leave," King said curtly. She bent to pick her pants up from the floor, put them on, and started walking away.  
"Maybe... I shouldn't have said that," Jessica mumbled from her place on the bed.  
"No," King told her, trying to keep her voice level, "If that's how you really feel, then you should say so."

King left the bedroom so she could retrieve her shirt and shoes, her anger starting to boil over as what Jessica told her _really_ began to settle in her mind. She pressed her lips in a thin line while willing herself to keep a cool head.

"I'm glad you were honest," she stated flatly when Jessica emerged from the bedroom. "You know that honesty is important to me, so I appreciate that."  
"Céc, I—"

Jessica started toward King, who was hastily pulling her shirt on, but suddenly stopped. She crossed her arms over her chest and just… stood, watching her with a strange expression. King cut her off the second she parted her lips to speak.

"Oh, and for the record? I _do_ get a little gratification from this because all of those men are _trash_ ," King fumed while buttoning her shirt back up. "And I _relished_ every second of the beat down I gave tonight. I'd do it again in a heartbeat. But I am not _any_ body's lapdog!"  
"That's not what I meant," Jessica began. "I just… please don't leave like this. I'm worried about you. That's all I'm trying to say."  
"Je n'ai rien à _foutre_."

King slipped her shoes on and grabbed her athletic tape from the floor while Jessica approached her.

"Cécile...!"  
"Don't call me that. Actually, don't call me at all."  
"You can't be serious!"

King sighed. She turned to peer into Jessica's face, which made her anger fade into something that was closer to a crushing sadness than anything else. No matter what she said or did, Jessica could _never_ understand what she was thinking or feeling when it came to the job.

It was because of that, and the lapdog comment, that she needed to get out of there — to just go home and think.

"I'm sorry," she said while she moved closer to the other woman. She gave her a peck on the forehead, took a deep breath, and made her way to the door.  
  
"I appreciate your concern — I do… but what you said to me sucks and I need to be alone for a while."

With that, King pulled the door open and exited the apartment, into the brightly lit hall, while Jessica locked up behind her. She trekked through the passage, one hand on her head, which was beginning to ache, and the other clutching the athletic tape very tightly. Suddenly, she stopped in her tracks as a feeling of unease came over her. She had the strangest feeling that she wasn't alone. Eyes narrowed, she took in her surroundings — which were completely unremarkable — before continuing to the elevator.

"Merde," she whispered sadly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another pretty self-explanatory chapter here.
> 
> * At this point in time Jess has not strayed yet; she's sincere in her concern and hasn't gone and did her thing yet.  
> * King's eyes are a very distinct dark blue, as are Jean's. Family trait. (Also, if you look at her dialogue portraits in KOF XIII the blue used is a darker shade than what's common.  
> * Jean being allowed to go home just means he was in the hospital again  
> * Two piercings in each earlobe just because it's a super common thing *shrugs*  
> * Je n'ai rien à foutre = I do not give a fuck  
> * Merde = shit
> 
> As always, thank you very much for taking the time to read and/or comment/review! I super appreciate it! Also, once again, special thanks to RobertCop3, David Tai, and jojoDo for putting up with my shit, and iwewia for the never ending support! I adore all of you! Cheers!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no will power. Notes at the end, as always. 
> 
> Onward~

King’s night had run the gamut from uneventful to spectacular to shitty to _really_ shitty, as she spent hours tossing, turning, and pondering her argument with Jessica — among other things.  
  
The more King thought about it, the more Jessica’s implication that she wasn't thinking about Jean bothered her even more than the lapdog comment. She wasn’t doing what she was doing because she _liked_ it; she was doing it because, if left unchecked, her brother’s medical expenses would put him and their aunt and uncle out on the street. She was doing it because her family didn’t make nearly enough money to keep up with spontaneous ER visits, numerous prescription medications, and impromptu lab work. Autoimmune diseases and bone disorders got really expensive really fast — even _with_ insurance.  
  
Then there was the question of operating. The abnormalities in Jean’s legs would eventually need surgical intervention because years of splinting hadn’t done a damn thing to help his disorder. But, of course, that meant… more money.  
  
At the rate King was getting paid, she’d be able to make a lot of cash fairly easily — it would just take a few more months working for Big, and then… then what? Jessica had told her to just leave, but one didn’t “just leave” the mob. King was going to _have_ to stay in it until she figured out a way to get out that _didn’t_ involve her untimely demise. As she lay awake, staring toward the ceiling, her thoughts took a turn and she found herself wondering how her parents might have felt about everything. They _might_ have been understanding… After all, she was doing what she was doing for Jean. But they definitely wouldn’t have been proud of the woman their daughter had become.

Then there was the question of her aunt and uncle. If they ever found out where King’s new influx of cash was coming from they would probably legitimately disown her. 

And if _Jean_ ever found out…

King forcefully turned on her side and sharply exhaled while she tried to push the image of her only sibling, crying and heartbroken, out of her mind.

  
  
  


###

  
  


The next morning, King stood in her shower, pretty much out on her feet because of how little she slept in the wee hours of the morning. She knew she needed to reach for the shampoo, but her mind and body were majorly disconnected from each other; her arm just wouldn’t move no matter how much she willed it to. It wasn’t until she reminded herself that she was going to use her day off to see Jean that she was finally able to maneuver, albeit sluggishly. 

After what felt like eons, King finally went through the necessary motions to finish her shower. When she was out and dry she slipped her undergarments on, uncertain of how she should dress for the day. She had started shopping in the men’s section regularly, forgoing casual attire for more sophisticated button down shirts and neatly pressed slacks. She never went so far as to tape her chest down when she wasn’t working, but dressing in a way that didn’t scream “woman” had become something of a new normal for her.

But that was there — in the city.

At home (not that it was _really_ home for her) she was able to present herself in a different light — to be “Normal Big Sister”, and not “Totally Androgynous Woman.” The idea of _not_ having to dress up was vastly appealing, so she pulled on an old t-shirt, baggy men’s jeans, and a mildly oversized, dark green hooded pullover. She put some eye makeup on, clipped her hair away from her face, and then completed her look with some small stud earrings (she wasn’t willing to let her piercings close...) before grabbing her necessities and heading out the door.  
  


  
  


###  
  
  
  


Thirty minutes later, King rang the bell of her aunt and uncle’s cookie cutter home in the suburbs. She stood on the front porch for several minutes before the locks clicked and the door was pulled open by her aunt, Madeleine (Maddy for short), who looked at her and sneered.  
  
“Cécile.”  
“ _Auntie_ ,” King greeted with narrowed eyes and equal disdain.  
“So nice of you to finally come by,” Maddy stated as she moved to let King inside the house.  
  
“What do you mean ‘finally?’ I’ve been _working_ ,” King retorted. She placed one hand on the wall while she removed her shoes, already intensely annoyed at the hateful woman near her.

Meanwhile, Maddy didn’t say anything. She crossed her arms over her chest and regarded King with the usual scorn before suddenly leaning a little closer to her.  
  
“What happened to your hand?” she asked curtly.  
  
King furrowed her brow as she noticed, for the first time, the very slight bruising on her knuckles. The punch from the night before must have been much harder than she thought if it marked her skin _through_ her glove. Regardless, she needed to think of a good response. Something that wouldn’t set off any —  
  
“Have you been fighting?!”  
  
The question made King grimace, not only because her aunt was actually correct, but because her martial arts was a _huge_ point of contention between her and her family. She had gotten in a lot of fights while she was in high school — so many that making it to graduation (at the top of her class no less) was nothing short of miraculous… as was the fact that none of the angry parents who stormed Maddy’s porch ever pressed charges. Nevertheless, she had to say _some_ thing to get the older woman to drop the subject.  
  
“I’m an adult, Auntie,” King replied casually. “I’m past all of that. But, if you must know, someone at work got a little… touchy.”  
  
With that, she strolled away from her aunt, and into the living room, which was, as always, immaculate. She caught sight of her bespectacled uncle, Gary, sitting in an armchair in the far corner, reading a newspaper. He looked up when he heard her approaching.  
  
“Hello, Cécile,” he said half-heartedly.  
“Hi.”  
  
There was a pause as Gary took in King’s appearance.  
  
“You’re wearing makeup today,” he noted.  
“Yeah…?”  
“Well, it’s just the last few times you’ve been by you’ve been very… minimalist. If I didn’t know you I would think you were a man, what with that short hair and cologne you’ve been wearing.”  
“Thank you,” King said tersely.  
“That wasn’t a compliment.”  
  
King took a deep breath before pressing her lips together in a thin line. While it was actually great to hear that her altered appearance had the desired effect — even among those who knew her — she was exceedingly aware that her uncle’s statements were meant specifically to make her feel bad. The joke was on him, though; the more masculine she looked, the better. Nevertheless, she had to play as though she was much more wounded by the comments than she actually was, so she made an annoyed sound and started toward the stairs.  
  
“I’m going to see my brother now.”  
“Wait, Cécile,” Maddy called sharply almost the second King’s foot touched the first carpeted step.  
“Ouais…?” King slowly drew the word out while she turned her head to look at her aunt.  
“He was in a lot of pain this morning, so I don’t want you to —”  
“Don’t want me to what? It’s not like I’m going up there with the intention to wrestle him.”  
“C’est un mauvais jour,” Maddy sighed.  
“...J’ai compris,” King murmured, unable to keep the sadness from her voice.  
  
She trudged up the stairs, down the hall, and over to a far room that was halfway open.  
  
“Toc, toc,” she called softly as she lightly tapped on the door. “Jean?”  
“Come in,” came a small, strained voice.  
  
King took a deep breath before pushing the door all the way open and entering the bedroom, where her nine-year old brother, Jean, was reclining on his bed. His legs, which weren’t in their splints (presumably because of swelling associated with his obvious flare-up), were stretched out in front of him, and his face was covered by a very distinct, red butterfly rash. He looked like he was in so much pain, and yet, he managed a small smile when he saw his big sister.  
  
“Hey, Céc.”  
“Hey, kid,” King greeted him softly. “Rough day?”  
“Pft. Yeah. I woke up with a huge headache, and my legs were all swollen so we had to take the splints off and I just feel like shi — crap.”  
  
King frowned as she carefully sat down on the bed. She placed a hand on Jean’s forehead — which was burning up — and gasped.  
  
“When’s the last time you took something for this?”  
“Thirty minutes ago. ‘m fine, Céc. Really.”  
“You don’t look fine,” King stated.  
“Neither do you.”  
“Huh?”  
  
Jean tilted his head to the side as he fixed his eyes on King’s face, thoughtful.  
  
“You look like you didn’t sleep.”  
“I… had a little trouble last night,” King admitted.  
“Is everything okay?”  
“Everything’s fine.”  
  
King was met with a pointed look from her brother, and she knew right away that the gears in his head were turning, trying to figure her out.  
  
“Céc.”  
“...Jean.”  
“You’re lying.”  
  
There was a short pause before King let out a quiet sigh.  
  
“Maybe,” she replied, “but what’s going on with _me_ isn’t important. What’s going on with _you_ , however —”  
“Is really boring,” Jean interrupted. “You’re out there, all grown up, living in the city and… I dunno. Doing whatever cool things people do in the city, and I’m here, running another fever and missing _more_ school because of this stupid flare up.”  
“How _is_ school, anyway?”  
“Same as always — when I’m actually there, anyway.”  
“But you’re making up your missed work, right?”  
“Yeah, but I hate it.”  
“What are you working on?”  
“The only stuff I have left is in English, and we’re doing Greek mythology.”  
  
At that, King made a face, surprised that Jean’s curriculum would even cover such things, since there seemed to be such a strong emphasis on math and critical thinking skills over anything else.  
  
“Greek mythology?”  
“Yeah. I have to read these stupid myths. Right now we’re working on one about some girl… Arak… Arak-something.”  
“Arachne,” King said quickly. “She was the weaver who challenged the goddess, Athena, to a weaving contest and was turned into a spider.”  
“Okay, yeah, her.”  
“So what’s the problem?”  
“I have to summarize what happens in the story.”  
“I think I just did that for you.”  
“Yeah, but my teacher wants us to be _super_ specific about it.”  
“Well, here —” King picked up a notebook from the bedside table — “maybe I can help you with it?”  
  
Jean groaned, and King wasn’t sure if it was exasperation or pain.  
  
“Can I have that?”  
  
He abruptly pointed to something on the table near King’s elbow. She immediately picked up a plastic blue barf bag and handed it to him; he threw up almost the second the item was in his hands.  
  
“Sorry,” he croaked when he finished expelling the contents of his stomach.  
“Why are you apologizing?” King asked while placing a hand on her brother’s back. “You didn’t do anything wrong…!”  
  
Jean didn’t look convinced — and it ripped King’s heart to shreds. He started throwing up again while she watched, angry at the Universe for dealing him such a bullshit hand. With a defeated sigh she closed her eyes and called for Maddy to come up and lend support. She pressed her lips together, determined to help Jean in any way she could.  
  
Whatever it fucking took.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ready? Let's go:
> 
> * Maddy and Gary are, of course, not canon, but it's clear that King is not Jean's legal guardian, as she goes for long stretches of time without seeing him (as evidenced in several endings.) Someone has to be caring for this kid.  
> * Maddy is King's biological aunt on her dad's side; Gary is (obviously) by marriage  
> * I did a TON of research in regards to rare illnesses that would fit the bill for Jean's issues and came up with a plan! His disorders are Blount's Disease, which is a rare bone growth disorder that sometimes requires surgical intervention, and the autoimmune disease Lupus. The latter is characterized by flare-ups that have multiple symptoms, but the hallmark is a red butterfly rash across the face. He is also susceptible to migraines.  
> * No, he is not too young to be afflicted with these ailments. It's not common at all, but it isn't impossible.  
> * Ouais = Yeah; C'est un mauvais jour = it's a bad day; J'ai compris = I understand/I get it. That sorta thing
> 
> Ooooookay. That's it this time, folks. Come back next time, when our chaotic neutral heroine [REDACTED]!
> 
> Cheers!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want you to know that this chapter had hella rewrites because English. Among other things.
> 
> Onward~

The next evening, King made her way to L’Amour a few minutes before it was set to open for business, hyper-focused and ready to run whatever “errands” Big put her in charge of. However, the second she was inside the restaurant she noticed a startling lack of activity. There was no music playing, no hostess up front, and not a single server in sight. The only signs of life came from a couple of Syndicate members who were sitting at a fairly large table near the middle of the bar area, drinking, smoking, and playing poker: The Big Bad’s proverbial ride or die and ex-Navy vet John Crawley; Mickey Rogers, a boxer who had killed a man in an amateur bout; and, of course… Jack Turner.

Completely uninterested in what the trio was doing, King wordlessly walked past the counter (she gave a curt nod to Bruce, who was pouring some shots) and over to the staircase that led to the upstairs lounge.

"Hey, New Guy," Jack said suddenly, stopping King before she could ascend. "Big's not here."  
"Meeting with Geese," Crawley spoke up. "Decided to close the restaurant for the night."  
"...Oh."

King made a face. She turned around, a little mystified that the entire place was closed because of Big's absence (but now in the know in regards to all those completely random times she was told not to come in during her time as a waitress). It wasn't like it mattered, though, because she now had the night off, which, while not ideal, would maybe allow her to decompress a little bit. She started back toward the exit but stopped when Mickey flagged her down.

"Why don't you come over?" He called. "We can use an extra guy."  
"Yeah," Crawley chimed in. "Hang out with us!"  
"Let us get to know you a bit better," Jack added.

King pressed her lips together as she considered her next course of action. Sure, she could go and humour her coworkers, as she had learned to play poker young (and was reasonably good at it), but she didn't care to spend more time with any of Big's men than she absolutely had to. She glanced at Bruce, who gave her an encouraging nod before turning her attention back to the table.

"Okay," Crawley said when King stayed silent, "You don't have to play, but at least do a shot with us."  
"It'll be quick," Mickey told her.

There was a brief pause before Jack asked, "You're not one of them types that don't drink, are you?"

King shook her head; no.

"Then come on!" Mickey urged, his expression open and friendly.

With a quiet sigh King placed the book she had brought with her ( _The Complete Stories of Franz Kafka_ ) on the counter before walking over to the trio. She supposed doing a shot wouldn't harm anything, and it would help solidify her place within Big's crew. She picked up one of several small glasses from the center of the table and fixed her eyes on the floor, not really paying attention to Crawley as he went on some spiel about camaraderie and the importance of staying tight.

"Cheers!"

The men yelled in unison, which was King's cue; she hesitated for only a fraction of a second before downing the liquor — which, to her dismay, was whiskey. The alcohol burned her throat as it went down, and even made her feel a little sick. She had to hide it, though; she had to prove that she could hang with the boys. She took a deep breath and placed the glass down with the intention of walking away, but let out a startled sound when Jack's hand shot up, gripped her cummerbund, and pulled her down into the seat next to him.

"Where you going, New Guy? Sit."

King glared daggers at Jack, but his only response was a derisive smirk.

"Tell us about your book," he said, his interest clearly feigned. "What kinds of things you readin' over there when you're not out doin' Big's work for him?"

King scowled fiercely, almost unreasonably angry that Jack had the nerve to put his hands on her ( _again_ ), but also possibly a little affected by the whiskey, as she felt really warm all of a sudden.

"I asked you a question, Frenchie."  
"King's a li'l shy," Mickey cut in as King furrowed her brow. "It's okay, though. He doesn't need to talk if he doesn't wanna. Sometimes less is more, you dig?"  
"But I'd like to know more about the _person_ that's been taking my guys out," Jack answered.  
"Aww, don't be a dick, Jack," Crawley admonished the large man. "He's just doing his job. And very well, at that. You've got some skill, King. Muay Thai, right?"

Still reeling a little from the whiskey, King nodded. She hated all of these men… but it was nice to know that her capabilities hadn't gone unnoticed.

"Muay Thai? You mean like, kickboxing? That's what that is?" Mickey inquired.  
"You just now figured that out?" Crawley's tone dripped with disbelief.  
"Hey, it's not like I sit around watching the guy fight."  
"Maybe you should," Jack spoke up. "It might be… _enlightening_."

There was a brief pause as each man reached for another shot. King was going to try to leave again but Crawley held a small glass toward her.

"Have another," he said casually. "We all know you've earned it."  
"I have to drive," King stated plainly.

(A total lie, because she had walked there.)

"What? Can't hold your liquor?" Jack sneered.

King frowned. She looked toward the ceiling and then cleared her throat so she could speak in her lower register for a little longer than usual.

"Based on my size and the fact that I've had very little to eat, two shots would raise my BAC —"  
"What's that?" Jack asked.  
" — blood alcohol content, dipshit," Crawley hissed.  
" — to the point where it would take a couple of hours to sober up, and that's if those shots are only forty-percent ABV. Also, I prefer wine."

There was silence among the group before Mickey held his small glass up.

"King with the _smarts_ ," he yelled before downing his liquor.  
"Lord knows we need more brains around here," Crawley commented dryly. He took the shot for himself, leaned back in his seat, and peered at King thoughtfully.

"Big is real fond of you," he started. "You haven't been here very long, but you've definitely made a mark. Keep it up."

King didn't know how to respond to that, so she didn't. Instead, she watched as Crawley produced a pack of cigarettes and a lighter; he pulled a stick of lung cancer halfway out of the pack before wordlessly holding it in King's direction. She held up a hand and shook her head.

"How about some weed?" Mickey suggested.

Another head shake.

"Blow?"

And another.

"Tch. This pretty boy is far too good for that shit," Jack declared. "But I know for a _fact_ that he has more… _specific_ vices."

All eyes turned to Jack, curious. He squinted at King, seemingly amused, while she crossed her arms over her chest, unsure of what the hell he was even talking about.

"What _you_ like is candy."

Mickey and Crawley exchanged a look while King quirked a brow. Yes, 3 Musketeers bars were great (particularly the mini ones…), and Skittles were very addictive, but what did Jack think he knew about her eating habits? And, more importantly, why did it even matter?

"You're not into the _overly_ sweetened stuff though. You like things with more substance."

King didn't know why, but she started to feel very uncomfortable — like something was _wrong_. She gazed at Jack, as expressionless as possible, as she did her best to push the feeling to the back of her mind. Unfortunately it seemed as though he picked up on her unease, as he looked directly into her eyes... and flashed a wicked smile.

"In fact, I bet… your favourite is _caramel_ ," he asserted.

For some reason, the word "caramel" made King sit up a little straighter. There was something in the _way_ Jack said it… and the look on his face when he did. He was still staring into her eyes, but, despite being a little rattled, she stared back, determined not to show it.

"Yeah, yeah, so you're positive that King likes sweets over hard drugs. Can we get back to our game?" Crawley asked impatiently.

Jack's eyes flicked toward the man across from him for just a second before settling on King once more.

"You don't like those hard, Werthers bullshits, though," he continued, his voice taking on a more deliberate, and maybe even baleful tone. "You like that _soft_ stuff. The stuff that just melts in your mouth. I bet you could eat it all day, huh, New _Guy_?"

The gleam in Jack's beady eyes… the way they _pierced_ hers as he spoke…

King's breath caught as she was hit — _hard_ — by the realization that Jack wasn't talking about candy.

He was talking about Jessica.

Her heart began _pounding_ as she suppressed the urge to vomit. If he knew about Jessica, then he absolutely knew about her.

...It also meant that he must have followed her the other night… which made her furious. In that moment she wanted — _very_ badly — to cave his nose in, but she knew that if she lost her shit it was game over. She had to keep it together — _had_ _to_.

"You're drunk," she told him flatly.  
"But am I _wrong_ , New Guy?"

King pressed her lips together while Jack smiled at her like a sloppy, overweight Cheshire Cat. It was so unsettling that she had no choice but to look away from him, her nausea becoming stronger and stronger with each passing second.

"You alright, King?" Mickey inquired. "You look kinda pale."  
"Yeah, you don't look so good. Was it the shot?" Crawley guessed.  
"Ou-ouais," King answered as she hastily stood up. She could see that son of a bitch watching her out of the corner of her eye. She wanted to kick that smug smile right off of his face, but now that he did, indeed, have major dirt on her… now what? He was probably about to let the guys in on her secret at any second. And if they found out…

"I should go," she told the group.  
"Aww, but we've barely scratched the surface, New Guy." Jack mock pouted. "I feel like there's still _so_ _much_ more to learn about you."  
"Stop giving him such a hard time," Crawley chided. "He'll open up more eventually."  
"Oh, I bet he will…"

King pressed her lips together _very_ hard; she wasn't about to give this asshole the satisfaction of a response. She had other things to focus on, anyway — like how she was going to go about convincing Jessica to stay with her parents in Colorado for a few days while she tried to fix this…

She gave a two fingered salute to the men at the table before turning and quickly making her way out of the bar, toward the rear exit she had entered through. Once she was halfway down the corridor she placed a hand on the wall to steady herself; the whiskey might have been stronger than the standard forty percent, as she felt very… strange. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath as she tried to organize her racing thoughts.

Jack knew she was a woman. Whether or not he was aware that she was the same woman he fought a few months back was unknown, and probably irrelevant because, either way, _Jack knew she was a woman_.

Not only did he know about her, but he knew about Jessica, too, which was fucking _horrifying_. Knowing that she had been tailed after work — all the way through the building — instilled in King a deep feeling of revulsion. Thinking that he was there… that he had probably been outside the damn apartment made her feel even sicker than she already was (especially since the walls were infuriatingly thin).

King placed a hand over her mouth and stifled a gag — just in time to register the heavy footsteps behind her. She whirled around but couldn't react fast enough to avoid Jack before he grabbed her by her arms, slammed her into the wall, and lifted her slightly, so her feet were no longer on the floor. He held her in place and grinned.

"Looks like you and me got some catchin' up to do, hon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. That happened.
> 
> Writing Jack's dialogue in terms of that candy metaphor was very difficult, not gonna lie. I was actually told that it was too subtle, particularly for someone like him, but there are reasons for that. I had three guinea pigs that I ran it by (you know who you are) to gauge different reactions, and after chatting at length with all three I felt like that was the way to go. Anyway.
> 
> * King's book, The Complete Stories of Franz Kafka, is just that: a compilation of Kafka's works that clocks in at nearly 500 pages. (It goes without saying that, by now, she's finished The Divine Comedy.) One of Kafka's most famous stories is The Metamorphosis, which is about a guy who wakes up transformed into a huge insect  
> * The alcohol being consumed is BULLEIT Straight Bourbon Whiskey, which has an ABV (alcohol by volume) of 45%  
> * A single shot that is 40% ABV on a somewhat empty stomach has the potential to knock one's BAC up to 0.05%, which is characterized by some mild impairment. These shots are a little stronger, and King is able to hold her liquor (particularly later in life) but she's still very young here, so it packs a little bit more of a punch  
> * 3 Musketeers, Skittles, and caramel are all vegetarian or vegan friendly candies
> 
> Okay. That's done. Let me know your thoughts and feels! Cheers!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long stretch between this update and the last. As much as I would love to be like, "I did it to keep you on your toes!" the real reason is much more mundane than that, but whatever.
> 
> Onward~

King didn't scare easily.

Even when she was a small child, and faced with traditionally "scary" things, she never felt much of anything in the fear department. But, now, as a twenty-one year old adult, she was legitimately terrified. But it wasn't because of Jack ( _he_ didn't scare her at all) — it was because of what he might do with his knowledge.

In spite of that, she glared at him defiantly as he held her against the wall.

"Moi mettre vers le bas tu putain de connard," she demanded, her voice low and dangerous. Jack completely ignored her and tightened his grip while looking into her face.

"I thought you seemed familiar," he told her. "See, I recognized them eyes of yours. I only ever seen blue like that once."  
"Con...gratulations...!"  
"And then I seen you fight the other day. And you did something _else_ I only ever seen once: that fancy backflip thing with all the kicks. When you did that? That's when I knew for sure that you were the _bitch_ that was stupid enough to try to fight me."

When King didn't say anything Jack tightened his hold even more and slammed her into the wall again.

"You _are_ her, aren't you?" he prodded.

King scowled fiercely, but slowly nodded her confirmation since there was no point in denying it.

"You were tough, I'll give you that."  
" _Merci_."  
"So, tell me what an _adorable_ little thing like _you_ is doin' here, hon'."  
"Oh, you know… Just hanging out," King boldly quipped. She moved her feet, which were dangling inches above the floor, for emphasis.

Another slam, this one harder than the first two.

"I'm gonna ask you again. _What_ are you doin' here? And what are you doin' dressed like a man, to boot?"  
" _Magic_ ," King retorted.

At that, Jack actually chuckled — a sound that was repulsive and off-putting.

"You think you're funny, don't you?"  
"A little bit, yes."  
"Why don't we see how funny John and Mickey think you are. I bet they'll find you hilarious when I tell them you're a chick."  
"They'd never believe you," King pointed out.  
"Why? Because of how you're dressed? Clothes come off real easy, hon'."

King's chest tightened as her nausea came screaming back; she actually felt something starting to come up but swallowed it back down just in time. She shut her eyes, unsure of how to respond, but it didn't matter because Jack filled the silence.

"You know what? I'll just go ask your girl about this instead. I bet _she_ can tell me everything."

At that, King's eyes snapped open, her temper — and real, actual _fear_ — rising. She had thought about what might happen to _her_ plenty of times if anyone found out what she was doing, but she had never once thought about the possibility of those around her being put in danger by her actions. If something happened to Jessica, it would be her fault. Just like if something were to happen to her aunt and uncle, or, even worse, _Jean_.

"Leave her out of this," she growled, her voice a bit strangled. "She has nothing to do with it!"  
"That's what they all say."  
"She _doesn't_."  
"But she knows, don't she? She knows that you're runnin' around town, dressed up like a _boy_. She probably _likes_ it, too, huh?"  
"Shut up," King spat.  
"She's real pretty," Jack commented as if he hadn't heard her. "Doesn't look like a dyke. Maybe I'll send one of my Cats over to play, since you wanna be stubborn. Maybe Paulie. Paulie would like her — she's just his type..."

Horrified by Jack's musing, King renewed her efforts to break free but cried out when Jack increased the pressure on her arms. She thought about trying to throw a knee to his gut or his groin, but the space was too tight for it to be effective on any level. She was completely helpless… and it was _really_ pissing her off. She continued trying to wriggle out of Jack's grasp but was only met with laughter as he lifted her higher off the floor.

"The other option is I take you over to her place right now and all _three_ of us can chat. Or, better _yet_ , I call Paulie over so he can join in on the conversation, too. He has real effective ways he could get some answers out of _both_ of you, but he'd probably prefer it if you sat back and watched. He likes that sorta thing, you know. It's a little much for my taste, but if it means findin' out what the hell games you're playin' then —"

"Money!"

King's exclamation interrupted Jack's diatribe.

"I need the _money_ ," King choked. She felt tears stinging the corners of her eyes and, in that moment, hated herself for showing weakness. Meanwhile, Jack stared at her briefly before rearing his head back and laughing.

"Money?! You're playing with us for _money_?!"

A slow nod.

"What are you, some kinda crazy gold digger?"  
"No…!"  
"Well, whatever. It _is_ a good payin' gig," Jack said thoughtfully. "I bet you're pullin' in all kinds of cash, aren't you? Probably made a pretty penny for each of the Cats you took down."

King didn't answer. While it was true that Big had paid her very nicely for her work, there was no way in hell she was going to divulge anything more to this bastard — especially since he already knew _way_ too much. (Obviously.)

"You know, I'd hate to see what would happen if Big found out about this. A pretty, young thing like you? He'd put you out on the street without a second thought. Maybe shoot you up with a little somethin' to make you more agreeable, too. Then you'd _really_ make some money… For him."

That was yet another thought that made King physically ill. She swallowed hard while shifting her gaze to the floor.

"So, what do you say? You can tell him, or I can," Jack remarked.  
"Don't," King said quietly, her voice cracking slightly.  
"' _Don't_ ,' she says. As if I give a shit."

Without warning Jack dropped King; she let out a soft grunt as the side of her body hit the cold, hard floor with a good amount of force.

"Don't go anywhere," Jack told her. He placed a large foot between her waist and her ribs; he applied a moderate amount of pressure to keep her down while pulling a beat up phone from his pocket.

"I gotta make a call real quick."

King stared up, horrified. This was it: the end of the line. There was always a part of her that knew that she would be found out eventually, but she didn't think it would be so _soon_ , or because of something that happened before she even gave crossdressing a single thought. Nevertheless, she had failed her brother — miserably. She pressed her lips together and willed herself to stay as composed as possible.

And, so, as much as she wanted to jump up and beat Jack Turner senseless, she, instead, silently watched from under his boot as he started to scroll through his contacts, her temples throbbing and heart nearly beating its way out of her chest. All of a sudden, Jack stopped scrolling. He removed his foot from King's torso (it left a big, gray footprint on her white shirt) and stooped down in front of her. He held the phone up so she could see the screen, which displayed Big's number.

"All I have to do is hit this button and it's over for you, hon.' Unless…"

He trailed off then, and flashed a terrible, wicked smile that made King want to claw her way out of her own skin. She looked away and wished she had just listened to reason. Maybe if she had taken Jessica's words into consideration that night a couple of months ago she would be sitting at home with a bag of 3 Musketeers bars, binging Netflix documentaries while putting off her psych homework. Broke — but safe from harm.

"Maybe… maybe you and I can work somethin' out..."

King blinked a few times, confused. She furrowed her brow as she pulled herself into a sitting position, her eyes fixed on the man in front of her.

"What do you mean?" She asked cautiously.  
"Just what I said."

There was a lull in the conversation as King positioned herself against the wall and pulled her knees up toward her chest.

"I'll tell you what," Jack started, breaking the short silence. "I won't call Big — or any of the guys. I'll keep your secret. But you gotta do a little somethin' for me."

King made a face, once again nauseous.

"Oh, nothing like that," Jack gawped. "What kinda guy do you think I am?"  
"I already _know_ the kind of guy you are," King glowered. "You beat me up and left me with those perverts, tu de cochon dégoûtant."  
"Heh —" Jack held his phone up once more — "I can still push this button and make the call, so I suggest you shut up and listen to what I have to say."  
"Fuck you," King blurted angrily.  
"Shouldn't have said that, hon'."

With that, Jack hovered his thumb just above the small button, a wide smile on his face.

"You know what'll happen when I make this call. So this is your last chance, hon'. Agree to help me out, and I'll agree to help you out."

King took a deep breath; she didn't want to help Jack Turner with anything in any capacity whatsoever, but if there was even the smallest chance that she could keep her job — keep the charade going and not be murdered or forced to become a drug addicted hooker — then she had no choice but to at least hear him out.

"What is it that you want from me?" she questioned apprehensively.  
"Seventy percent."  
"What…?"  
"Just what I said. Seventy percent."  
"Of _what_?"  
"Of anything Big pays you."

At that, King's jaw actually dropped. She stared at the man in front of her in disbelief. Seventy percent of anything she made was going to significantly alter her plans, because there was no way she would be able to pay for her own living expenses while saving up the money she needed to quickly take care of Jean's medical bills and eventual surgery. She did some hasty mental math and came to the conclusion that she would be right back to making almost the same amount of money — maybe a _little_ more depending on circumstances — as she was before she even started working for Big in the first place. Which, after utilities and rent, wasn't all that much for anything extra… such as mounting medical bills. It would defeat her entire purpose of going out and taking the job in the first place.

"You're joking," she told him, wide-eyed.  
"And what makes you think that? You're the resident comedian around here — not me. Now, do we got a deal, or…?"

If looks could kill, Jack's head surely would have popped like a balloon under King's hateful stare. She was completely trapped: if she didn't give him what he wanted, he would tell Big and the rest of the Syndicate her secret. But, if she paid up, she could at least keep herself alive, since simply up and quitting wasn't an option now that she had seen and done so much. She would also be able to keep Jessica safe, since _her_ safety was compromised as well.

"How do I know you won't tell them anyway?" she asked quietly.  
"You're just gonna have to trust me," Jack answered with a smug expression that King desperately wanted to remove with a few violent kicks. Instead, she took a very deep breath and slowly let it out, doing her best to keep her temper (and her impulses) in check.

"Tick, tock, hon'. I don't have all night," Jack stated. "Now what's it gonna be?"  
"Un jour," King started, eyes directly on Jack but her voice shaky, "je vais te détruire, vil fils de pute…!"  
"I dunno what you're sayin', hon', but it doesn't sound very friendly-like."

With that, Jack pushed the call button and then immediately put the phone on speaker.

"FINE!" King yelled just as the line started ringing. "Fine! I'll do it…!"  
"Atta girl," Jack grinned. He hit the end button before Big ever answered. He then brought himself to his full height, peered down at King, and chuckled before extending a grubby hand toward her. She eyeballed the appendage and stood up on her own, eyes narrowed, absolutely _seething_ with hatred and resentment.

"Well," Jack dictated while taking his hand back. "I look forward to doing business with you, _New Guy_."

He then turned and made his way back toward the bar area, whistling a happy tune as he went, which left King by herself in the bright corridor. She ran her hands through her hair and laced her fingers together behind her neck, her desire to go home almost as strong as her desire to run back into the restaurant with the express purpose of maiming Jack. Of course, she knew that would be a very, _very_ bad idea; hell, doing _anything_ to the bastard was a bad idea thanks to what he knew. The heartbreaking truth was that if she made a single wrong move, she was dead.

Suddenly immensely relieved for the unexpected night off, King took a deep, shaky breath, wrapped her arms around herself, and exited the building, her chest tight, head splitting and thoughts racing.

She couldn't see any way out of this mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that ended badly...
> 
> Okay, so you know the drill.
> 
> * Moi mettre vers le bas tu putain de connard = Put me down you fucking asshole  
> * The fancy flip with the kicks is, of course, King's Trap Shot  
> * Tu de cochon dégoûtant = you disgusting pig  
> * Un jour je vais te détruire, vil fils de pute = Some day I am going to destroy you, you vile son of a bitch
> 
> Alright alright! What will happen next? Tune in next time for what is more than likely the conclusion of this little look back in time! Cheers~!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, anybody who actually decides to read this. I have some stuff to say, and, also, a surprise, which is a direct result of the other stuff. Anyway, I won't get into any details, but I hit a massive rut, and I considered not publishing this — hell, not even writing it — until... Idek. I wasn't going to leave it unfinished... I was just going to not work on it because what's the point anyway, right?
> 
> But, then, a little birdy — you might know this birdy as jojoDO, the author of the great Kumite fics and my partner on Karma Police — stepped in. And when I say "stepped in" I mean that, not only did he give me what was probably a much-needed pep talk, but he also helped me with this chapter, thus making this finale a collab.
> 
> So, if you've been with this story from the beginning and actually give a damn, then you should definitely thank jojo for playing the part that he did because I don't know what would have happened had he not taken it upon himself to help a heifer out.
> 
> As always, some translation notes at the end.
> 
> Onward~

King carried herself through the streets of Southtown in something of a daze. Her encounter with Jack had left her undeniably shaken; the confirmation that he knew about her — and about Jessica as well — was bad enough, but his condition for keeping her secret was just… she didn't know what to call it. She couldn't find the right words or phrases in either English or French that could adequately describe how truly, utterly disastrous this new development was.

When King reached her apartment building she stood outside for just a moment before slowly unlocking the entry door. She summoned the elevator, but, instead of hitting the button to go up to her floor, robotically selected the parking garage on the underground level. She made the trek to her car, climbed in, and, almost as if on autopilot, drove off. It wasn't until she found herself getting onto the freeway did she even have any idea of where she was going.

###

Nearly an hour later King stood before her uncle, hair and shirt wet, one foot and the hem of her pant leg _soaked_ , and still somewhat dazed.

"Cécile…? What is the meaning of this?"

King parted her lips to answer, but found herself unable to speak. She quickly looked away from Gary, her brow furrowed and thoughts nearly drowned out by the heavy rain.

The sky had opened up halfway through King's drive, forcing her to turn her windshield wipers on the highest setting while sitting in abnormal amounts of traffic, since, evidently, the other drivers forgot how to use their gas peddles on wet roads. When she arrived at her aunt and uncle's house she parked her car on the sidewalk (she didn't want to block the garage), removed her cummerbund and bowtie, and awkwardly pulled the athletic wrap off and out of her shirt (which she untucked), before exiting her vehicle. She hastily ran the short distance from the car to the house, trying her best to keep from getting too wet, but, predictably, stepped right into a large puddle along the way. She must have been a sight for sore eyes, as something that might have been _like_ concern flashed across Gary's face. The two stood in silence for just a moment before King finally managed to speak.

"I need to see my brother…"

Without a word Gary moved aside so King could enter the residence. She automatically took off her shoes and started forward, only to be cut off by Maddy, who appeared directly in her path. She looked King up and down, the usual disdainful expression on her face.

"Why are you here? You know you're supposed to call before you come over," the older woman stated curtly. She held out a small towel, which King carefully took. The oddly civil gesture from her aunt started to bring her out of her stupor.

"I know," she started, "but…"  
"Aren't you supposed to be at work, anyway?"  
"I was given the evening off… "  
"He's _napping_ ," Maddy interrupted.  
"I won't wake him," King answered while using the towel to absorb some of the water from her pants.  
"So then what did you come over for?"

King placed a hand on her forehead and let out an exasperated sigh as her apathy gave way to annoyance.

"Do I really have to give you a reason for every little _thing_?!" she snapped, though her tone was closer to exhaustion than anger.  
"Non, Cécile, you don't have to give a reason for _every_ little thing, but you need to be more considerate of the rest of us."  
"'More _considerate_?!'"

King stared at her aunt in disbelief: Everything she was doing was out of consideration and love for her family. Of course, it was _absolutely_ more for Jean than for Maddy or Gary… but they, too, were definitely benefitting from her efforts.

Her efforts that were going to be stymied by that fat _son of a bitch_ …!

"Yes," Maddy said, bringing King out of the beginning of a train of dismal thoughts. "More considerate! What if we would have had someone over? Or had gone out for an impromptu dinner?"  
"T'es plein de merde," King muttered crossly.  
"Tais-toi, Cécile," came a sharp retort.

King glared at her aunt, her lips pressed together so hard that it hurt almost as much as her head, which was all at once splitting.

"Fuck you, Maddy," she growled while throwing the small towel back in the other woman's hands. As she walked to the stairs she heard Gary say something in a hushed voice, but she honestly didn't give a damn about anything he had to offer. All she wanted — no, all she _needed_ — was to see Jean. She went up to his room, where a single dim bedside lamp illuminated his sleeping form. Even though he was curled up on his side, King could see that his face looked a little better than it had the day before, and his legs were back in their splints. She leaned on the doorframe and quietly sighed as she was hit by an almost overwhelming feeling of defeat.

She had been well on her way to earning what was needed to help take care of her brother — to even pay for his surgery outright — but, now, his misery was going to be prolonged for who knew how long because of Jack. It just wasn't… _fair_! The only reason she had gone after the bouncer job in the first place was because of how well it paid, and the only reason she took the "promotion" was because of how well _that_ paid, but now it didn't even matter. Not only was she trapped — in the fucking _mob_! — but Jessica's wellbeing was in just as much jeopardy as her own.

King stared at Jean (he looked so _peaceful_!) and wondered how she could have failed him so badly. As much as she wanted to go over and just hold on to him she decided that it was best to let him sleep. She briefly shut her eyes before turning on her heel to walk away, all the while trying to think of ways out of her predicament.

"Céc?"

The tired voice stopped King in her tracks. She about-faced so she could go back to her brother's room, where he was still laying down, but rubbing his eyes.

"What're you doing here?" He asked while propping himself up on his elbows.  
"I'm sorry," King said. "I didn't want to wake you."  
"It's okay — I was already up."

King flashed a wan smile at Jean, her resolve starting to collapse as she approached him. She swallowed hard while looking down at the floor. She couldn't lose it — not in front of him, anyway. She had to be strong, because if she wasn't…

However, the harder she tried to reinforce that staunch façade, the harder her facial muscles fought back, trembling with long-awaited tears.

"Céc?"  
"Hm…?"  
"What is it?"  
"It's nothing," she told Jean as she moved forward. He screwed up his face as he squinted up at her, frowned, and then softly patted the empty space next to him.

Without a word King situated herself next to Jean; she silently rolled onto her side so she could face him before placing a hand on his forehead to see if he was still feverish. Relieved that he didn't feel all that warm, she tried to smile once more. Unfortunately, a stray tear found its way down her cheek, which Jean noticed immediately.

"What happened?" he asked quietly.  
"I… it's... I'm just tired."

A pointed look from Jean made King regret going over there in the first place, especially because she couldn't open up and tell him anything about what was going on . Hell, even if he was an adult she wouldn't be able to tell him. The only thing she could do was… what _could_ she do? Personally, professionally… no matter where she went, her hands were tied.

"It's okay," Jean said brightly. He placed a hand on King's arm and gave a light squeeze, which _almost_ broke the camel's back. She shut her eyes and willed herself to stay composed, but, instead, she let out a shaky breath; she _had_ to keep cool — for his sake and for hers.

"Céc?"

King swallowed hard as she grabbed the corner of the pillow she was laying on and squeezed as tightly as she could. She opened her eyes to see her brother looking straight at her, his face screwed up with concern. There was something in his expression that completely, utterly decimated her composure.

"I'm sorry, Jean," she whispered. "I'm so sorry…!"  
"Wh-why?"  
"I… I'm trying so hard, but… j'ai merdé…"

And — just like that — her nose began to feel stuffy and her eyes began to burn. Going to her aunt and uncle's house was such a terrible idea; she should have just gone home and suffered by herself because now —

"Aww, it's okay, Céc," Jean assured her. "You're doing everything you can. I know you're working a lot because you're trying to help me, but I'm fine. As long as _you're_ fine, _I'm_ fine. It's a little cliché, but it's us against the world, remember?"

King raised her eyebrows, surprised. That was something she said to Jean _once_ , almost word-for-word _years_ earlier, when their father died.

"How do you even remember that?" she asked.  
"I dunno. But it's not like it's changed," Jean replied. "It's still you and me. I mean… we have Maddy and Gary, I guess…"  
"Yeah," King murmured. As much as she wanted to correct Jean and tell him that _he_ had Maddy and Gary, she kept her mouth shut. Fighting with them in front of him was bad enough; she didn't need to go making comments to him behind their backs.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

Jean's question was so good — so _innocent_ ; it made the situation that much worse. Instinctively, King reached out and pulled her brother into a tight hug. She held onto him and cried much more than she would have liked, annoyed at herself for being such an emotional weakling. After what felt like much too long, she let go so she could sit up and wipe her eyes on her sleeves. She looked past Jean, at the window on the opposite wall, which was being pelted by rain, and wondered how she could have failed him so badly. Her eyes then flicked to the godforsaken splints on his legs before finally settling on his face.

"Just… hang in there for me, okay?" She asked weakly.  
"I will," Jean replied. "But you have to hang in there, too."  
"I'll try…"

###

It was a few weeks later and the last thing King wanted was to spend a morning at the L'amour Restaurant and Bar, much less the usual evenings she had to endure in the luxury eatery of hidden criminal agendas. But she was summoned by the Big Bad himself, which meant that backing out was _not_ an option.

So there she was.

Back in her professional attire, which she had painstakingly, more groggily than normal willed herself into donning, on account of the morning misery… and the general sense of hopelessness that had set in after the monumental blow to her morale by… she didn't want to even _think_ his wretched name, much less look in his direction or hear his obnoxious gruff voice, or the bubbles popping from his goddamn bubble gum…

King had never, not once in her life, wished someone didn't _exist_ until her time spent with Jack Turner. Had she the power, she would delete him from the world: his name, face, birth records, memories created and shared… there would be no trace of his disgusting brown hair and corpulent physique ever breathing life, the butterfly effect be damned.

But King was not God; she was as far from it as could be. And, as she stood there and heard the cackles and dirty jokes swapped between the malignant trio, among them the object of her hate, she desired to test the heavens above by giving whatever God may have been up there a middle finger.

"What'chu know about it, King?"

King's senses snapped back to the present, when she heard a voice address her. She looked over to see Mickey gazing right at her. The other two soon joined.

"What?" King tried to put some inflection in the word, but it came out as more of a mumble.  
"You've had a girl send you her tits before, right?"  
"Yeah, New _Guy._ "

 _He_ spoke… and put an ever-so-subtle spin on that noun, which caused King to immediately look away. She didn't want to respond — didn't want to acknowledge a putrid breath from his lips.

"Pretty _boy_ like you, I bet lotsa girls send you pics…"

A low chuckle escaped from his lungs as the hint of a shit-eating grin teased on his mouth, prompting King to take a deep breath. She willed herself to stick to the plan:

Quiet. Stoic. Cold.

"I'm not talking about my personal life."  
"Aw, c'mon," Crawley spoke up. "You've gotta tell us _something_!"  
"Yeah," Jack chimed in, his voice cloying. "You got a squeeze, don't you? Or was that chocolate piece I saw you with just some one and done bitch?"

King narrowed her eyes and pressed her lips together, willing herself to keep it together while Jack stood, that disgusting smile on his face. She knew exactly what he was doing — what he was _trying_ to do — but if she reacted…

It was at that moment that Big strolled into the lounge, flanked by his women and holding a briefcase. With a smile, he set it down on a far table, turned around, and looked everyone over one by one.

"I'mma get right to it: You boys have done some mighty fine work over the last few weeks. Work that has resulted in some… good fortune, if you will. So with that being said you're all getting a bonus — because I'm kind. But don't take my kindness for granted…"

To any normal employee, this would have been a ray of good news, but King already knew what it really meant. Her eyes instinctively — without any command — cut towards Jack, whose own eyes peered back… and the smugness on his lips made no attempt to stay hidden. All she could do was groan: a silent, forbidden expression of her disapproval, as she knew the consequences of crossing him or showing even a _hint_ of defiance…

The end of her job. The end of _Jean's_ only chance.

And maybe even the end of _her_.

###

King stood in the deserted men's room and glared at Jack as she handed over a small stack of bills, not unlike the smaller kid being shaken down by the school bully.

"Is that all of it?"  
"...yes," King answered flatly.

Jack leered at her before counting the cash in his hands and flashing that infuriating, shit-eating grin.

"Good girl," he told her happily.  
"Fuck you."  
"Careful, hon'… don't wanna say the wrong thing."

King growled; she balled her hands into fists, took a very deep breath, and made herself look directly at the repugnant man, who was pocketing _her_ hard-earned cash.

"Someday — "  
"Yeah, yeah, you'll destroy me. I'll still have your money. Hope what you need it for isn't _too_ serious…!"  
"I _really_ hate you," King intoned, her voice low. She never removed her eyes from the slovenly man's face, which was steeped in amusement.  
"That cut deep, _New Guy_."

Just then, the bathroom door flew open and Crawley poked his head in.

"Hey King! Big's looking for you."  
"Coming," King stated, finally taking her eyes off Jack. She followed Crawley to the lounge, where their boss sat back on his sofa, a mound of coke on the table in front of him. He addressed King nearly the second she walked in:

"You're up."  
"Who?" King inquired blankly.

She was given a quick rundown and sent to a little dive bar a few blocks away, where she would find the leader of a small-time gang that was trying to encroach on Big's territory. The instructions were simple enough: use any means necessary to convince the small fry to back off.

King was glad Big kept it basic; she wasn't in the state of mind lately to follow long, complicated instructions. This… _this_ was what she needed — what she _wanted_ : to use her hands and feet, and swing out her frustrations. She was damn sure that, from here on out, every blow she rained down would be upon the face of who she imagined to be that scruffy-haired, blackmailing bastard… no matter who it was, or what the circumstances were. He was the object of her ire… and the wrath she could only _dream_ of unleashing on him would, unfortunately, go towards anyone Mr. Big saw fit.

Would she feel bad about it? Maybe a little.

But would she enjoy it?

IMMENSELY.

She pressed her lips together while she approached her target, eyes narrowed, dead set on making him feel _pain_. He was trash, and _Jack_ was trash. And, so, as she snatched her opponent's hair and viciously pulled him from his seat at the counter she decided that she would make the best of her pay cut.

…By taking out the trash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that concludes this particular look into King's past and why she hates Jack so much. So, not a lot going on here, but:
> 
> * T'es plein de merde = you're full of shit  
> * Tais-toi = Be quiet; shut your mouth, etc etc  
> * J'ai merdé = I fucked up  
> * Jean was four when their father died  
> * In case you missed it in previous chapters, Jessica is not white. Google Nathalie Emmanuel. YOU'RE WELCOME.  
> * It's been mentioned before that King has a bit of a sadistic streak (see Japanese ver. Capcom vs SNK 2 special win quotes with Yuri on the same team, Madman's Cafe, and previous stories). Although it already somewhat exists at this point in time, the situation with Jack is what really pushes it forward, since she ends up using the physicality of her role as an outlet in regards to her frustrations with Jack, and her family, and Jean's health, etc. etc.
> 
> Okay, you lovely readers. Thank you very much for sticking with this story, and for all of the illyverse stuff if you've been going here for a long time! The support means a lot to me, especially when that Imposter Syndrome comes creeping in. And, of course, a very special thanks to jojoDO, who did great work on this, David Tai for providing ideas and input, iwewia for the endless support, and RobertCop3 for listening to me complain about everything.
> 
> Thank you all very much! Don't be afraid to make use of that comment/review box down below to tell me your overall thoughts!
> 
> Cheers~!


End file.
